


Apotheosis (Or A Duty Dance with Death)

by QueenSabriel



Category: Old Kingdom - Garth Nix
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-06
Updated: 2015-02-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 07:40:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2573639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QueenSabriel/pseuds/QueenSabriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following the defeat of Kerrigor, Sabriel and Touchstone return to the Old Kingdom to begin undoing two-hundred years of decay and ruin.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_And you, my father, there on the sad height,_  
 _Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray._  
 _Do not go gentle into that good night._  
 _Rage, rage against the dying of the light._

-          Dylan Thomas

 

Two of the city guards brought her father’s body up from the reservoir.

Sabriel stood out in the wan sunlight of a mid-winter afternoon, clouds heavy with snow just beginning to pile in the sky. Touchstone stood beside her, and as the guards appeared in the mouth of the caves carrying between them a man-sized bundle wrapped in linen, Touchstone reached out and put an arm around her shoulders. The guards carried Terciel’s body over to a small cart waiting nearby, and after they laid it down the smaller of the two walked over to Sabriel and Touchstone, his expression somber.

“He looks like he might have just died yesterday,” he said softly. Then from under his leather jerkin he removed a cloth wrapped bundle the length of Sabriel’s hand. “And…he was holding this. I wrapped it so it wouldn’t ring.”

“Astarael…” Sabriel whispered as she took the bell from him. She cleared her throat. “Thank you, uhm…?”

“Damed, m’lady,” the guard said with a slight bow. “I believe Jall said he would have a pyre constructed on the beach, if…if you are ready to go there now.”

Though there were only four of them accompanying the cart, Sabriel felt as though she was leading a funeral procession. Mogget had told her, at some point during the few days spent recovering at the house, that some Abhorsens’ funerals had been joyous occasions, celebrations of lives well lived, of finally reaching the utter peace of the Ninth Gate.

“I should feel relieved,” Sabriel said, quietly, to Touchstone. “Our enemy is defeated, this quest I left on is complete. The kingdom has a king again.”

“And an Abhorsen,” Touchstone said softly.

“I feel…empty right now. Or not empty. Just…” she trailed off.

Touchstone nodded, then said, “Just unable to feel. I know. None of it has sunk in yet.”

The lapsed into silence, turning off the main road and down a gentle slope, under a stone arch and out onto one of the stretches of sandy beach just outside the walls of Belisaere. Down by the water Sabriel could see a group of people putting the last sticks and logs on a large pyre. Jall Oren was amongst them, his naturally somber face all the more appropriate for this situation.

He joined them, then indicated the gathered people with a sweep of his hand. “By your leave, Abhorsen. Your father was a great man, and these few wished to pay their final respects.”

Sabriel nodded after she tried and failed to say a simple ‘yes.’ Instead she turned to watch as Touchstone helped the guards lift Terciel onto the pyre, removing the cloth as they did. Just as Damed had said, Terciel looked as though he had been dead for only minutes, not a week. He looked peaceful, expression completely relaxed. Sabriel walked over to him, then reached out to gently cross his arms over his chest and brush her fingers over his cold cheek.

 _Everyone and everything has  a time to die_.

His final words echoed in her mind, but they brought no comfort. A light wind picked up from the sea, so cold it bit to the bone, and carrying on it tiny flecks of snow. Sabriel hugged her cloak tighter about her.

“I w-wish you could have st-stayed just a little longer,” Sabriel said, her voice breaking as tears welled in her eyes. “I need you so much right now. B-b-but…” She took a deep breath, looking skyward for a moment, then back down. “But I will go on, I will do my best. G-goodbye, Father. Go swiftly.”

Touchstone stepped up beside her then, his expression solemn. “I did not know you, Abhorsen,” he said lowly. “But I thank you for all you have done for this…for my kingdom.” He paused, glancing at Sabriel, then back at Terciel. “And I thank you for your daughter, for I love her very much, and I swear I will do right by her, and by you. Go swiftly, Abhorsen.”

Sabriel lifted her hands then, sketching a kindling mark in the air above her father. Touchstone’s hand rested lightly on the small of her back, lending strength, but still the mark seemed weakly cast. And then from behind her came a surge of Charter magic, a dozen small sparks cast by the onlookers joined Sabriel’s.

The marks burned bright as a miniature sun for a moment, then melted into liquid flame that poured down over the pyre. In a second, all was alight, the Charter fire driving back the oncoming night and winter storm. More snowflakes were falling from the sky by then, melting in the heat of magic flames undisturbed by the once again frigid wind.

As she lowered her hands, Sabriel’s breath began to catch in a series of short whimpers. She had fought tears so much in recent weeks that she instinctively pushed them back, until she realized there was no real reason to. _You’re going to cry_ , she told herself. _Let yourself cry_.

And just like that, her sniffles became a full, heartbroken sob, barely muffled by her fingers. All the sadness and pain of the past few weeks broke over her, and Sabriel found herself weeping not just for her father, but for everyone and everything that she had lost. For Ellimere. For Jacinth. For Magistrix Greenwood. For the dozen other girls who she had barely known. For the life she had once imagined and was now irreparably gone. For the fear now threatening to consume her.

She would have fallen to her knees in the cold sand, but Touchstone caught her, hugging her to his chest. Sabriel buried her face in his shoulder as she continued to weep, her hands finding purchase on the material of his doublet. Touchstone wrapped his arms tightly around her, his chin resting on her shoulder.

Tears glistened on his cheeks as well as he finally allowed himself to grieve his own losses: his mother and sisters brutally murdered, everyone he had known gone while he slept, for _his_ life that had been stolen away. And too for Rogir. For a once beloved older brother, stolen by unimaginable darkness.

Silhouetted against the leaping flames, the king and the Abhorsen clung to one another. The funeral pyre continued to burn and the two most powerful individuals in the Old Kingdom continued to let themselves appear to all the world as nothing more than two frightened children mourning their parents.


	2. Chapter 2

Cold steel pressed against Sabriel's throat. She froze, forcing herself to remain absolutely still as she asked, "You wouldn't kill an eighteen year old girl, would you?"

"You're hardly just a girl, Abhorsen," said the man holding the blade. After a moment he lowered his weapon and smiled at her. "You are a woman. A woman with a sword in her hand who is also probably the most dangerous person in the whole kingdom."

"To a necromancer, maybe," Sabriel said. She watched Damed deftly twirl one of his small twin blades before returning them to their sheaths. Her shoulders sagged. "Otherwise I do not feel very dangerous."

Damed patted her arm, then gave her a nudge back towards the low stone bench at the edge of the yard. Sabriel returned her own sword to its scabbard before moving to sit and take a drink from her waterskin. Now that she was not moving, the wind blowing in off the bay became bitter rather than refreshing, and she gave a little shiver.

Sitting beside her, Damed took a drink as well and wiped at his forehead with a piece of cloth. "You're eighteen, and so far you've defeated a being that plagued this country for two centuries, and in a little over a month you've almost entirely purged this city of the Dead. Perhaps 'dangerous' doesn't quite cover it, but you _are_ powerful, m'lady, do not forget that."

"I still feel like I must be the most ignorant Abhorsen ever," Sabriel said, though she knew that she just sounded petulant now.

Damed gave her a bemused look. "Oh, yes, all those things I just said certainly are the mark of an idiot."

Sabriel glared at him with the sort of miffed expression she generally reserved for Mogget, but she said nothing, instead letting her gaze wander as she took another drink of water. The two of them were out in the small yard of the Winter Palace, alone save for the guard standing by the gate. Her gaze traveled upwards, beyond the roofs of the surrounding houses, to the silhouette of the grand palace atop its hill.

There would be Clayr architects there now, slowly but surely restoring the building to its original state before the last regent burned it down. But Sabriel was thinking of what lay beneath the palace, the reservoir, the broken stones. Touchstone was down there too, trying to mend the damage Kerrigor had done. He had spent nearly every morning since their return repairing the stones, and his progress had been discouragingly slow.

"My lady?" Damed asked softly, and Sabriel realized she must have been silent for quite some time.

Sabriel sighed and shook her head. "Sorry." She shivered again.

"I think we've done enough for today," Damed said, gesturing for her to collect her things and come inside with him. His expression lightened a little. "You leave for Nestowe tomorrow, yes?"

"Yes," Sabriel confirmed, though she didn't sound very enthusiastic about the prospect. "I promised I would help them, and that was...Charter, a month and a half ago. And then while I'm down there I might as well start on some of the other small towns, and Touchstone needs to know just how many broken stones there are, and I should probably look into setting up a guard post on this side of the wall and..." Her voice trailed off. "There's just so much to do."

Damed laughed. "Aye. Did you think starting a government from scratch would be simple?"

"I'm starting to think defeating Kerrigor was the easy part," Sabriel said, her expression lightening just a little. They had reached the back door of the winter palace then, but before entering she cast another look towards Palace Hill, thinking again of Touchstone. "I've gotten so used to being _here_ , and I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"You'll be back soon enough," Damed said, holding the door open from her.  A bell somewhere chimed two o'clock, and Damed grunted. "You go get cleaned up, m'lady, I'll fetch his highness and you two may be able to actually have lunch together before some councilor steals him away."

***

Sabriel was surprised, when she came down to the small dining hall after a quick bath, to find Touchstone sitting at the table already. He was speaking with Jall Oren, and as Sabriel approached he handed the older man a piece of paper. Jall bowed to Touchstone, then inclined his head to Sabriel before sweeping out of the room.

"Hello," Sabriel said, slipping into the seat next to Touchstone. The only other person in the room now was Damed, who generally remained close to his king and was currently cleaning one of his swords over by the window.

Touchstone smiled at Sabriel, some of the weariness melting from his features. He looked around as though to make sure Damed was in fact the only other person there, then leaned in to press a light kiss to Sabriel's lips. "Did you have a good morning?"

"If you count getting thoroughly beaten by your bodyguard good, then yes."

"I'll trade you," Touchstone said, smiling ruefully. "Turns out Charter stones are even more stubborn than bodyguards."

Damed snorted loudly.

Sabriel reached over and squeezed Touchstone's hand. She bit her lip. "You know, I'm going to Nestowe tomorrow...I suppose I could go to the House afterwards and see if Mogget will wake up enough to give me any pointers. Father did seem to think he might have an idea where to start."

"I know where to _start_ ," Touchstone said, looking down at the angry red, barely healed cut on his palm. "It's finishing that's the problem. But...yes, asking Mogget might not be a bad idea, even though selfishly I just want you back here as soon as possible."

Sabriel grinned, and was about to kiss him again but one of the doors to the hall opened and a servant came in carrying plates of food. She settled instead for giving him an overly fond look, resting her knuckles against her lips for a moment.

"I'm mostly just worried about what'll happen without you there to poke me when I fall asleep during council meetings," said Touchstone as he spread a napkin in his lap.

"Damed," Sabriel craned her neck a bit to look at him. "In my absence, I'm putting you in charge of keeping his highness awake."

Damed grinned and saluted with two fingers.

***

As it was quite a long flight down to Nestowe, Sabriel intended to leave early the following morning. She rose just before dawn, and as she put the last of her supplies into a pack, the sun was just peeking over the tops of the trees and houses of Belisaere.  Outside her door, Sabriel hesitated; the palace was almost entirely silent, only the servants who helped with breakfast were awake, and the third shift guards.

She looked down the hall to the double doors at the end that led to Touchstone's room. He certainly would still be fast asleep, and she hated to disturb that, but she hated even more the thought of leaving without saying goodbye. Figuring Touchstone would be even angrier with her if she left without stopping in, Sabriel went over to the doors.

One of the guards cast her a curious look, but nodded in greeting. "Abhorsen."

"His highness wanted me to say goodbye before I left," Sabriel said, attempting the sort of tone that would brook no argument. As none came, she first knocked, then pushed the door open and slipped inside.

Even though the winter palace was relatively small, the king's chambers were still quite spacious, larger even than some of the houses Sabriel had been to in Bane and Wyverly village. She left her pack and coat by the door, crossing through the semi-gloom to the great four poster bed where Touchstone lay asleep.

"Touchstone?" she whispered, shaking his arm.

He grunted, then opened one eye to look at her before he sat up. "Sabriel? Oh! You're leaving...?"

"I wanted to get a head start," she said, suddenly feeling an anxious twist in her stomach. Looking down, Sabriel tucked her hair behind her ear. It was growing out from the neat bob she'd worn it in for the past two years, and she didn't foresee much opportunity to get it trimmed.

Touchstone reached out, pulling her to sit on the edge of the bed. "I'll miss you," he said quietly.

"I'll miss you too," she said. "But...we'll have to get used to this, I suppose. It's going to be a long time before the kingdom is completely safe, and I doubt we'll ever be rid of the Dead entirely. We all must do what we must do."

"Hmmm," Touchstone said, though he looked like he wanted very much to debate that. Shifting a little, he leaned in and kissed her, deeply, one hand coming up to cup the back of her head. Finally, reluctantly, he drew back and rested his forehead against hers. "Just promise you'll come home."

The sudden tears in her eyes startled Sabriel, and she pulled back from Touchstone to wipe them away. She hadn't realized just how much Belisaere _had_ begun to feel like home over the past month and a half, but it was true. There was life here, now, and people who were quickly becoming her friends, and most of all Touchstone's constant, reassuring presence. She could remind herself all she wanted that her job lay all over the kingdom, but Sabriel doubted the partings would get any easier.

"I will," she said finally, nodding. "As soon as I can. And I'll send you message hawks whenever possible as well."

Touchstone seem satisfied with that, and nodded. He even managed a light smile as he added, "Best of luck, Abhorsen."

***

She spent a little less than a week in Nestowe, then went north to Qyrre, then south again to Roble's Town before circling back east to Abhorsen's House. When she finally landed her paperwing on the island in the middle of the waterfall, almost three weeks had passed since she left Belisaere and she was feeling incredibly homesick and exhausted.

Not to say that the past three weeks hadn't been worth it. The villagers of Nestowe could now safely return to their homes, Qyrre and Roble's Town were both considerably safer, and the latter had a promise that the king would repair their broken stone on his way to Barhedrin sometime in the near future. The sheer gratitude shown by the residence of those three towns had also done a great deal to lift Sabriel's spirits, as had the communications she had from Touchstone, few as they were. Still, she was eager to return to the capital, and planned to do so as early as the following morning.

Sabriel felt odd as she entered the House. Her house. She had not been there since she and Touchstone first returned with Sanar and Ryelle; the four of them had spent two days and two nights there before continuing on to Belisaere and the Glacier respectively. Compared with the hustle and bustle of the palace, the House seemed still, unlived in and cold.

A sending glided over to her, bowing before it held out its silvery hands to take Sabriel's things.

"I almost wish you could talk," Sabriel said, and the Sending tilted its head from side-to-side in an amused sort of way, before turning and taking her bag up the stairs. Sabriel watched it for a moment, then followed with a resigned sigh.

Sabriel had a bath, then dinner by herself at the head of the long table. She tried coercing one of the Sendings to at least sit with her through the meal, but the Charter spelled being seemed unable to comprehend what she wanted and would simply peer blankly at her even when she pulled on one it's barely physical arms.

Afterwards she wandered up to the library, where a fire was already blazing cheerfully in the hearth. Sabriel froze in the doorway, thinking again about the last time she had been here. Her gaze moved to the couch on one side of the fireplace, a flush rising in her cheeks as she remembered sitting there with Touchstone on the second night, and how they had—

"Mistress? Is that you?" drawled a sleepy voice from one of the armchairs.

Sabriel started, putting her hands to her cheeks. She scowled a little. "Yes of course it's me, Mogget, who else would it be?" She stalked over to the chair where Mogget sat, and knelt, scratching him behind the ears. "I was hoping you'd be awake."

"Ranna has a fickle grasp," Mogget yawned, squinting at her then butting his head against her arm. "You look tired."

"It's been a long three weeks." Sabriel said, lifting Mogget so she could sit. She tried setting him in her lap, but the white cat hopped up on the arm of the chair instead to lick his paw for a moment. "I wanted to ask you about fixing the Charter stones."

Mogget lowered his paw and squinted at her drowsily again. "Yes, how's that going for his highness?"

"Slow. And difficult. He's not having much luck."

"He's applied his blood and cast the spells of mending and healing and life?" Mogget asked. "The finishing touches should come naturally to him, if he's done the preliminary steps correctly. The Stones _know_ the royal blood—the ruler of the Old Kingdom has always been their warden.  They will open their...their minds to him, for lack of a better phrase."

Sabriel's brow knitted, and she knew Touchstone wasn't going to like to hear that. "He's been trying so hard."

"Then he needs to try harder," Mogget said. "It's not the sort of spell that you'll find written down conveniently in a book anywhere. And, yes, it's difficult. The price of fixing the Charter is...almost as high as the price to break it."

"What?" Sabriel felt sudden alarm, sitting up straighter in her chair. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Mogget regarded her solemnly, and for once there was no hint of sarcasm. "Each time he mends a stone, he puts some of his life into it. Do not fear, the Ninth Gate will not call to him in the next year, or decade, or handful of decades, but it _will_ call to him sooner than if he had not had this burden."

"It's not fair," Sabriel whispered, wiping a hand over her eyes. "He didn't ask for this. He wasn't even supposed to be the king."

Now Mogget's expression turned leering again. "Does the walker choose the path, or the path the walker?" he said. "No he did not ask to be made king, but he did have a choice. The two of you could, at any time, have simply decided to go south, to abandon the kingdom."

"No we couldn't!" Sabriel protested. "We are the only ones capable of fixing everything, we had to come back."

"It was still a choice," Mogget said. "I don't think anyone save your own consciences forced you to come here."

Sabriel rested her head in her hand, breathing deeply. Exhaustion was starting to overwhelm her now, and her temples were throbbing. She looked up only when Mogget rubbed against her arm again. "Is this what being an Abhorsen is?" she asked. "Always going where the Dead are, never settling? Charter...I just want to be back in Belisaere."

"Oh I'm sure you do," Mogget said with a knowing smirk. "Back in Belisaere, back in your lover's bed..."

"Mogget!" Sabriel glared at him, feeling her cheeks flush deeply again. "That's...that's none of your business."

"I'm just trying to make a point, Mistress. You said yourself—this is what it means to be an Abhorsen. You won't be around him forever you know."

Sabriel wrapped her arms around herself. "I could be. Most of the time."

"You think so?" Mogget sneered, then let out a derisive sort of hiss. "Oh, _Mistress_ , you silly, foolish girl. You don't really think anyone will let you actually marry him, do you? Kings marry the children of noble families, or for political gain. They don't marry glorified necromantic rat-catchers, no matter how important you are."

Angry tears rising in her eyes again, Sabriel resisted the urge to hurl the cat off the arm of the chair. "Why are you being so horrid?!"

"Because you don't listen when I'm nice; you're just like your father!" Mogget snapped. "Your mother died because she was the Abhorsen's wife, you know that, don't you? Your lot make terrible spouses. Now I'll tell you what's far more likely—your king will get paired with the daughter of one of the few remaining noble houses, or maybe even some important Ancelstierran. If you're very lucky, Touchstone will grow dreadfully bored with her—"

"Shut up," Sabriel whispered, but Mogget ignored her.

"And then your _friendship_ will be all the more important." Mogget saw the look on her face and laughed. "Don't give me that. You're hardly the first Abhorsen to spread her legs for the king, and if that sort of thing continues you won't be the first or last to give birth to a royal bastard..."

Sabriel stood up so abruptly that the chair scooted back a little, and Mogget had to dig his claws into the leather to keep from getting displaced. "You're wrong," she said weakly.

"No, I'm realistic." Mogget hopped back down to the seat of the chair, curling up and continuing to stare at her. "I know you want to believe that goodness has won over evil and the prince has been saved and you get to live happily ever after...but you have a long road ahead of you, Mistress. Take what pleasures you can and don't waste time day...daydreaming..."

Ranna had given a soft chime, and Mogget yawned, his eyes closing even before his head came to rest on his paws.

Already tired beyond belief, Sabriel actually felt her own eyes drooping, though she still stood in the middle of the room. Not wanting to collapse on the carpet, as tempting as the idea was, she stumbled over to the couch and lay down, hugging one of the extra pillows to her chest. She tried, before sleep claimed her entirely, to banish Mogget's words from her mind and replace them with something more pleasant.

***

The first day and night at the House had been difficult. Sanar and Ryelle spent most of it tending to Sabriel and Touchstone's injuries properly now that they were on the correct side of the wall. This meant that by dinner on the second day, the Abhorsen and King were feeling considerably better but the two Clayr were exhausted, and disappeared to their room not long after the sun set.

Sabriel and Touchstone retreated to the warm comfort of the library and sat for a while reading together before the fire. Sabriel had shifted so she was leaning against Touchstone, one of his arms absently draped around her. He held a book in his other hand, but was far more focused on the small patch of skin exposed on Sabriel's hip when her tunic rode up. He kept brushing his thumb over it, a deft motion, pausing and nudging a little as though wanting to edge the fabric even further up.

Another caress, from the hem of her shirt to the waistband of her leggings. Sabriel shifted a bit, trying to coax his hand higher, to silently tell him it was alright. Her eyes were still on the book, but she definitely wasn’t reading the words any longer. She sucked in a breath as Touchstone slid his hand up, pushing her shirt with it, then coming to rest with his warm palm against her skin.

Sabriel finally let the book fall from her hand as she looked up. Touchstone gazed back at her and they were silent for what felt like an impossibly long time. Sabriel, feeling a mixture of nerves and excitement, fished for something to say, but was only able to nod. Touchstone let out a breath of laughter at that, before leaning over to kiss her.

Deep, slow kisses became shorter, more desperate ones. Sabriel felt herself being lifted and laid back on the couch, though she was more concerned with pulling Touchstone’s tunic off over his head. He made a soft sound, lips finding her jaw, then the side of her throat. He didn’t get her shirt all the way off, just up enough that he could kiss the soft curves of her breasts, then, more reverentially, the still red scar, barely healed even by Charter magic, that ran down the middle of her abdomen.

“You’re beautiful,” Touchstone said, lifting his head to look up at her. “You’re so beautiful.”

Sabriel smiled, part of her wanting to find some witty comeback, but most of her wanting to focus on the warmth of his hands as they caressed down her sides, then lower, drawing her leggings and undergarments off. She bit her lip, heart beating a little harder.

“You’re all right?” Touchstone murmured. It came out part question, part reassurance.

“Mhmm…” Sabriel’s breath hitched as he began to stroke her with two fingers, gentle, coaxing caresses. She closed her eyes, lips parting as he began to circle her clit, a familiar tension just starting to build within her…

Touchstone sat back, and she opened her eyes with a disgruntled sort of noise, before realizing he was simply shifting to push his own trousers down. She’d seen him naked, of course, but that was under entirely different circumstances, and she was almost ashamed to feel herself blushing, until she noticed the half-smile on his face.

“You haven’t lain with a man before?” he murmured, leaning back over her. One of his hands slid between her legs again, and he let out a soft sound. “ _Charter_ , you’re so wet…”

Sabriel merely nodded, letting out a little moan. She tried to settle more comfortably on the couch, and ended up having to wrap one leg around Touchstone to avoid too awkward a position. Not that he seemed to mind, his own breathing becoming heavier as he reached between them, brushing against her folds before he began to ease into her.

Even in her current state, it took a moment before the slight aching she felt subsided into a far fuller, more pleasurable sensation. Touchstone obligingly stilled, stroking her clit again until with a little whimper Sabriel wrapped her arms around his shoulders and nodded. Then he pressed a light kiss to her neck, and braced one hand on the arm of the couch as he began to move.

She didn’t know how long it was before moans began rising in her throat with each movement of their bodies, Touchstone’s breath hot against her skin, her fingernails digging into his back. He began to move with more abandon, the old couch creaking slightly, and it was only the vague thought that they weren’t entirely alone that kept Sabriel from simply crying out.

She came first, gasping and arching up against him, her climax heavy enough that she let out a little whimper when Touchstone continued to move for a few seconds after, until he too shuddered and stilled, chest heaving.  

Sabriel was certain for a good minute that she was about to pass out, until she felt a light kiss on her forehead, and a sudden coolness as Touchstone drew out of her and sat back.

For a few moments neither of them spoke, though Sabriel did feel a smile on her face as she peered up at him through half lidded eyes. As her mind began to shake off the haze that had settled there she giggled, realizing how ridiculous she must look sprawled on the couch in nothing but her tunic, which was currently pushed up as far as was possible without removing it entirely, and Touchstone, shirtless and only just wriggling around to pull his trousers back up.

“So did you like it?” he asked, and he sounded so genuinely anxious that Sabriel burst into laughter.

“Oh, I’m sorry…” she said, sitting up finally and pulling her tunic down. “You just…yes it was…it was wonderful.”

Touchstone smiled then, bending over to retrieve her clothes from the floor. “Good. I just…good.” He passed over her leggings, then winced. “I think you clawed me.”

“What?” Sabriel made him turn, and winced when she saw the red scratches on the backs of his shoulders. “Oh…Charter I’m sorry I didn’t…my nails aren’t even that long.”

“S’alright,” he mumbled, then abruptly pulled her into his arms and lay back on the couch. Reverentially he reached up to brush his fingers through her hair, an almost dreamy smile coming over his face. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Sabriel said softly. She stretched out on top of him, resting her folded arms on his chest, and her chin on her arms. Grinning a little she added, “I hope you don’t mind.”


	3. Chapter 3

Once when Touchstone was very small, his sister Ketya—who had been only two years his senior—had been given an exquisitely carved, small wooden horse for her birthday. It was painted the royal colors, and Touchstone remembered how much he had loved the toy. Then one morning he woke and found it placed carefully on his bedside table and Ketya had simply winked at him later at breakfast when he came into the solar with the horse hugged tight to his chest.

He remembered another time when he was a bit older, his mother and Rogir had been away and he had come down with an intense fever. His other sister, Alysaene, had sat with him for three days, reading to him and rocking him gently, bringing him water and doing more than their mother would have had she been there. He remembered that Alysaene couldn't wait to be a mother herself, she had always loved children.

For a long time Touchstone  hadn't understood what it meant to be the queen's bastard child. His mother loved him as much as she did his siblings, and that was all that mattered to him. The first time Touchstone could remember attending a formal dinner he had been six years old and so thrilled to get dressed up and sit at the high table with his sisters and brother.

Before dinner everyone milled around the main hall, talking and discussing business and politics. Touchstone, who was still very small, had spent most of the time clinging to his mother's skirt and for once Queen Samentha allowed that, perhaps because she feared that he would get lost in the vast crowds of guests otherwise.

At one point a man in fine green and silver garments came over to greet the queen. To Touchstone he seemed as tall as a pine tree, and about as spindly. He had peered down at Touchstone for a long moment before remarking, "A bit darker than his siblings, isn't he."

Samentha laid a hand on Touchstone's hair and regarded the nobleman with a cool expression. "Torrigan doesn't share a father with them," she said without any hesitation. The nobleman gave her an expression that Touchstone didn't understand, and his mother added sternly, "He is no less my son."

Shy and embarrassed—though he didn't know why—Touchstone had pressed closer to his mother, and didn't catch whatever remark the noble made next. All he knew was that his mother tensed, and made a rather frightening, angry sound, taking a step towards the man.

A split second later Rogir was at her side, putting a hand on her shoulder. "Mother," he said firmly. "Mother look at me."

"I'm fine, Rogir," Samentha had said, her eyes never leaving the nobleman. Still, Rogir did not move his hand from her shoulder until she started to relax. "Take your brother to meet the Clayr, why don't you? And carry him, he has a habit of wandering."

Rogir had hesitated a long moment before moving to scoop Touchstone up, murmuring, "It's all right, Torri. Just ignore men like him."

It would be many years until Touchstone pieced together that his mother had an even more volatile rage than he did. He never found out if he alone among his siblings had inherited it.

***

The first week in the grand palace was difficult. Touchstone had nightmares the first two nights, and almost considered asking to be moved out of the rooms that had once belonged to his mother, but there wasn't really anywhere else acceptable to be the king's quarters (as Jall had pointedly told him) and the Clayr had gone to so much trouble to set up the rooms for him. Everywhere he went he recognized things; rooms he had once lived in, furniture he remembered—his mothers' mahogany desk, for example—that had somehow survived the great fire. And Sabriel was not even there to lend her calm, steady support, being called away as she was to Olmund to deal with the Dead.

Saraday dawned and Touchstone was awoken by a knock on his door. He had slept well for once, and felt loath to leave the warmth of his bed, especially when he remembered today he had to make his first official appearance before a full court. He'd hated that enough when he was just his mother's guard; the prospect of being the focal point of everyone's attention was absolutely terrifying.

The door opened and a young man in the calico of the household staff entered. He bowed to Touchstone, who was sitting up in bed rubbing his eyes. "I've brought breakfast, your highness," the young man said. "As well as your court clothes. I'll draw a bath for you while you eat."

"Thanks," Touchstone said, getting out of bed and pulling a robe on over his pajamas while the young man set the tray he carried on a small table by the window. "Erm, I don't think I've been told your name."

The young man bowed again. "Elin, Sire."

"Thank you, Elin," Touchstone said again, and was amused to see how pleased Elin looked before he hurried into the bathroom.

The tray had fruit and eggs and warm bread, as well as a earthenware mug of coffee which Touchstone sniffed skeptically. Coffee was not something he remembered, and he'd only encountered it during that brief period following the battle with Kerrigor while he and Sabriel recovered in an Ancelstierran hospital. Sabriel—laughing a little at him—had explained that the bitter, potent beverage was quite popular, but also an acquired taste.

"I could bring tea if you'd rather," Elin said uncertainly as he returned. "Damed did mention you didn't have coffee back in..." He stopped, flustered.

"You can say it," Touchstone said. "Back in my day. And no, we didn't. But it's fine. This is fine." He did pour the entire contents of the small cup of cream into the coffee, however.

Elin bowed yet again. "Chancellor Oren said to remind you that there's a meeting of the small council in the morning, then you have lunch with Nalia of the Clayr architects to discuss the rest of the renovations, and court in the afternoon."

Touchstone, busy tapping his knife against an egg to open it, merely nodded.

"Also the formal dinner tonight. And I've been told that the Abhorsen should be returning in time to attend that."

"Oh?" Touchstone realized he sounded far too delighted, and quickly schooled his expression. "That's good. Very good. Thank you again, Elin, you may...er, carry on."

"Thank you, Sire." Elin bowed again before backing out of the room.

The egg broke open a bit sloppily, spilling yolk over the eggcup, and Touchstone sighed. This was going to be a very long day indeed. He reached over, picked up the coffee mug, and took a long sip of the bitter drink.

***

Sabriel did not know what to do with herself. She stood in the foyer of the grand palace, her pack slung over one shoulder, feeling unkempt and filthy after several hours in a paperwing and, before that, over a week of battling the Dead through the swamps that surrounded Olmund. And here she was in the middle of the bustling activity of politicians and rising nobles, all clean and well dressed.

Worst of all, perhaps, they kept bowing to her with reverential murmurs of, "Abhorsen."

"My lady?" someone said, touching her arm.

"Yes?" Sabriel turned to see a girl maybe a year or two younger than her, with lots of curly black hair, bronze skin and a quite lovely face that was currently set in an amused expression. She wore simple clothing and soft, flat shoes.

"My name is Nira," she said, inclining her head. "I'm to be your handmaid while you're at the palace."

"Handmaid," Sabriel parroted, baffled. "But I don't need—"

Nira held up one hand. "You will, trust me," she said with a wink. "Besides I specifically asked for you."

Sabriel, without even realized it, looked down at herself in dismay. She was still caked in a fair amount of mud and imagined her hair was rather windblown. "Why?"

"Because," Nira said simply, taking Sabriel's pack and slinging it over one shoulder. "Come along, my lady, I'll show you to your rooms and run a bath for you."

Feeling as though she had returned to some alternate version of Belisaere, Sabriel hesitated only a moment before following Nira up the main stairs.  She had known that she would be returning to a very different situation than she had left, but she hadn't believed just how different until she saw it for herself. Her brow furrowed. She hadn't even seen Touchstone yet.

***

Half an hour later Sabriel was clean and dressed in a fresh surcoat over soft leggings and a cotton tunic. Her bells and sword she left in a Charter spelled trunk under her bed, but after a rather cryptic comment from Nira, she did tuck a small dagger into her boot.

Coming back down the main stairs, Sabriel found that court had let out, and as a result the entrance hall was even more crowded than before.  For a moment she simply stood at the top of the stairs before forcing herself to descend, eyes scanning the crowd all the time. She recognized only a few faces, Jall Oren among them, and didn't see Touchstone until—

"Sabriel!" With a delight probably unfitting for a king greeting the Abhorsen, Touchstone strode up the first few steps to meet her. He briefly looked like he was about to pull her into a hug, then, abashed, settled for clasping her forearm. He cleared his throat a bit comically and said, "I mean, Abhorsen. Welcome home."

"Thanks," Sabriel said, smiling broadly. She glanced past him and noticed that more than a few eyes had turned to them, and that Jall was scowling a bit. Damed, who had silently appeared behind Touchstone, just seemed amused.  Then she turned her gaze to Touchstone. He didn't look much different, save perhaps for the golden circlet resting on his head. There was an added air of confidence about him that seemed stronger than before, but that she was glad to see. "Did I miss anything exciting?"

"Oh..." He shrugged. "Moving into the palace. Trade negotiations. Families popping up out of holes in the ground claiming noble lineage. The usual. How are you?"

"Exhausted," she admitted, descending the last few steps with him. "I'm going to assume I won't get much rest though..."

Touchstone shook his head. "There's a dinner tonight that I doubt I'd survive without you."

"Careful, Sire," Jall Oren said as he joined them. "Keep talking to the Abhorsen like that and you'll set people's tongues wagging before you've even made your first official decree. Unless that is your intent..."

Sabriel stared at him, her face burning. "Excuse me? What are you—"

"I did not mean offense, my lady," Jall gave her a slight bow. "I merely meant to remind you both how insidious court gossip can be." He gave Touchstone a pointed look. "And we have discussed this, Sire."

Touchstone's lips tightened just a little bit as Jall turned and wove off through the crowd. Sabriel scoffed.

"I'm fairly certain you don't have to let him speak to you like that," she muttered to Touchstone.

"It's all right," Touchstone sighed. "That's just how he is. And the truth is he does know more about all this than either of us do. Still..." He smiled and offered her his arm.

Taking it, Sabriel peered at Touchstone curiously. "What did he mean?" she said, voice still low. "What did you two discuss?"

"Oh..." Touchstone made a face. "Just that it wouldn't hurt to let people think they have a chance of marrying one of their children off to me. There are a number of families who've been hiding wealth and resources throughout the kingdom's decline, and the truth of the matter is we do need them, so..."

Sabriel nodded. Having gone to school with the children of prominent politicians, she was familiar with the way marriage was used as a playing piece more often than not. Still, it just made her think of what Mogget had said a month previous, and her stomach twisted unpleasantly. She tightened her hold on Touchstone's arm, not realizing she'd done so until he gave her an amused look.

"Don't worry," he said. "Marriage is about the last thing on my mind right now."

***

The only transition between an afternoon full of meeting dignitaries and sitting in on some informal conferences was Nira hauling Sabriel back upstairs at one point to have her change into a truly exquisite blue and silver evening gown. By that point Sabriel didn't have the energy to remark on how it looked and felt like it cost more than anything she'd ever owned, or how she really would just prefer to just wear her surcoat.

Staring at herself in the mirror after Nira had applied "just a touch" of makeup, Sabriel couldn’t decide if she was frightened or excited. She did not look like the Abhorsen Sabriel who spent weeks on the road hunting down the Dead. She certainly did not look like the Sabriel who had been a prefect at Wyverly. She didn't even look eighteen anymore.

"I don't even look like me," she said a bit miserably.

Nira finished combing her hair and regarded Sabriel thoughtfully. "You look lovely, my lady." Then she added, "Without a queen, you are the most important woman in the kingdom. They say you can't play chess with a deck of cards. Court is a game, and you're just using the right pieces."

"Do people really say that?" Sabriel asked, peering up at Nira.

The young woman grinned. "Yes. Well...the people in my favorite book do. But I think it applies."

"Right." Sabriel found herself laughing quietly. "You'll have to lend it to me someday." She got to her feet, smoothing her hands over her skirt.

"You have a natural air of power about you, Abhorsen," Nira said, standing just behind Sabriel. "Run with it."

Sabriel tried to keep her handmaid's advice in mind as she left her room. She remembered too something Ellimere's mother had once told her, and put her shoulders back, lifting her chin as she did.

Touchstone was waiting for her at the top of the stairs. He wore a red and gold jerkin and kilt, looking overall quite regal even while fidgeting with his sleeves. He looked up, smiling broadly as Sabriel approached. "You look...you look stunning," he said, reaching for her hands.

"I feel like I'm playing dress-up," Sabriel said, letting him pull her off to the side and out of view of everyone except Damed, who as usual was lurking quietly nearby. "Like I'm just pretending..."

Touchstone slipped his arms around her waist and kissed her softly. "You look like you belong." He rested his forehead against hers for a moment. "You have a natural elegance."

"Sure." Sabriel snorted, but gave him another light kiss. "Are you sure Jall's not going to fuss about us making an entrance together?"

Shrugging, Touchstone stepped back and took her arm. "It was his idea, he'd better not."

Down the main stairs they went. There were perhaps fifty people attending the dinner, all dressed in their finest clothing, all milling around the entrance hall with drinks in hand, accepting appetizers from the serving staff. All of them turned to look as Sabriel and Touchstone entered. Sabriel tried to read the looks she was receiving; curiosity, doubt, hope, skepticism...

They reached the bottom of the stairs and everyone began to talk amongst themselves again. For a moment Sabriel wasn't sure what to do with herself, until a couple approached them, the man bowing and the woman curtseying.  

"Your highness, Abhorsen," the man said. "I'm Duke Edryd of the court at Estwael, and this is my wife Uailse." His wife's name was said 'Oolshe' and Sabriel made a mental note to get the proper spelling of it at some point.

"Your grace," Touchstone said, smiling as he shook Edryd's hand, and then kissed the back of Uailse's. "Your grace. A pleasure to meet you both."

"And you, Sire," Edryd said, then turned to kiss Sabriel's hand. "My lady. Truly an honor."

"Your Grace," Sabriel said, inclining her head to both duke and duchess. She made another mental note to send a thank you letter to Miss Prionte for taking a whole class to explain the proper forms of address and deference.

Touchstone kept his arm linked through Sabriel's, and she could feel how tense he was despite the relaxed tone of his voice. "How fares Estwael? I can't say we've had much word."

"Surprisingly well," Uailse said. "We were very lucky to have survived the interregnum with little trouble from the Dead."

"That's good to hear," Sabriel nodded, even as a small flare of curiosity that bordered on suspicion rose within her. Still, she smiled. "I've never been to Estwael."

Edryd smiled broadly. "Well, we would love to have you, Abhorsen. Our coast is lovely, and there are vineyards and the great forest..."

They spoke for a few more minutes before Edryd and Uailse moved along. Touchstone watched them go with an approving look. "They seem nice. And they didn't ask for anything, which is a relief."

Sabriel nodded. "I didn't even realize the Old Kingdom had...provinces, or whatever you want to call them."

"I think Estwael is the last," Touchstone said with a frown. "There's the city of Estwael, and the duchy covers the whole area including some small towns, holdings and the forest. If I remember what Jall said correctly, they're our main supplier of ironwood and wine."

"Very important then," Sabriel said lightly, as she reached to take a glass from a passing waiter.

Touchstone laughed and took a glass as well, tapping the rim against Sabriel's before he took a drink.

Unfortunately not everyone was quite as friendly as the duke and duchess of Estwael. More than a couple officials either shot Sabriel less than pleasant looks, or flat out ignored her, which she grew more and more derisive about the more wine she had.

When the bell for dinner finally rang, Sabriel took Touchstone's arm once again. No one had commented on their closeness yet, but she guessed it had nonetheless been well noted by more than a few of the guests. At the long dinner table Touchstone sat alone at the head, with Sabriel to his right and Jall Oren to his left. Sabriel was seated next to Duke Edryd, and across the way was a large man with a black beard and sharp eyes by the name of Lord Grance.

There was something about Grance that Sabriel instantly disliked. Perhaps it was the way he kept looking at her, or the overbearing way he had of speaking on just about any subject that came up throughout dinner.

As the last course was served, conversation turned to the iron mines which Grance owned.

"They are the only ones in the kingdom I believe that are still operational," he said. "Though understaffed. Once I hire more workers our production levels should be more than suitable to keep the kingdom supplied."

Sabriel, who had maybe had a bit too much wine, raised her eyebrows. "A position I have no doubt you intend to use to your best advantage."

On either side of her both Touchstone and Edryd were fighting back laughter. Jall looked about ready to throw his vanilla and caramel tart at her, and Grance was... For a split second he looked furious, or so Sabriel thought, but then the look melted and he let out a belt out laughter.

"Are you accusing me of political manipulation, Abhorsen?" he said, still chuckling. "I'm hurt that I left such a poor first impression on you. Now, tell me," he drew his words out, making a great show of apparently changing the subject. "Is it true you grew up in Ancelstierre?"

"All right, Grance," Edryd said, smiling though he raised one hand a little off the table in a placating gesture. "I'm not sure that making an enemy of the Abhorsen is a particularly wise move."

"We're just talking, aren't we?" Sabriel said, attempting innocence.  She smiled at Grance. "I did. Northern Ancelstierre, where I attended a very renowned girls school." Her expression turned smug. "I know manipulation very well, my lord."

Grance chuckled again, lifting his glass to her. "Apparently the Dead aren't the only ones who should be wary," he said, before turning to speak with the woman seated beside him.

Sabriel continued to stare stonily at him as she lifted her glass to her lips. A moment later she felt Touchstone's fingers touch her arm, and she leaned obligingly towards him, but kept her eyes on Grance.

"What was that?" Touchstone muttered out of the corner of his mouth.

"If you don't think he's at least a little suspicious," Sabriel muttered back, "Then I think you're a poor judge of character." When she did look at Touchstone she was surprised to see amusement in his gaze.

"And I think you're a poor judge of how much you've had to drink," he said.

Sabriel rolled her eyes, but she did set her glass down.

Not that it didn't prevent the slight wooziness that came as they stood up from the table. Not the worst Sabriel had felt, but still not exactly pleasant. When she felt someone take her arm she turned expecting Touchstone, but saw to her disgruntlement that it was Lord Grance.

"Just a word, Abhorsen, before I take my leave for the evening?" Grance said. "If that is all right with you."

"I suppose," she said, and they walked over to the windows. Sabriel removed her arm from his grasp, folding her hands before her.

"A great number of people respect you already," he said. "Myself included."

Sabriel smiled. "Thank you. I believe that goes with being the Abhorsen, to some extent."

"Yes," Grance said, his speech slowing once again. "And that is just what you are, the Abhorsen." He smiled then, lifting her hand to kiss it before he bowed. "Good evening, my lady."

Sabriel watched him go, her mouth open a little as she tried to figure out if she had just been threatened or not. The pleasant buzz of the wine was starting to wear off, leaving her genuinely concerned that she had just bitten off more than she could chew. Someone stepped up beside her and cleared their throat.

"Damed," Sabriel let out a sigh of relief. "Jall is furious with me isn't he?"

Damed shrugged, grinning. "Furious? He couldn't stop laughing."

"You're joking?" Sabriel said, feeling the corner of her mouth quirk upward.

"Honest to Charter I am not," Damed patted her arm and grinned broader. "No one expected that from an eighteen year old girl, even if she is the Abhorsen."

Sabriel ducked her head, feeling embarrassed and pleased and maybe still a little tipsier than she had judged. "I think you were right the first time, Damed.”

"What was that?" Damed asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not just an eighteen-year-old girl. I'm a woman with a sword."

Damed stared at her for a moment before letting out a whole-hearted laugh.  He surprised her by wrapping an arm around her shoulders and pressing a kiss to her temple. Then, even more surprising, he added in a quiet voice, "I would have been so proud if my daughter had grown into even half the woman you are." And before Sabriel could ask about it, Damed slipped off across the room to rejoin the king.

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

_Dearest Sabriel,_

_I managed to track down some handmade paper to write you on, though honestly I still don't understand why. Anyway, you had better be planning to visit me soon, darling! Things just aren't the same without you. I like the girls I'm rooming with here at uni, and they're all lovely but we've only just met each other. Of course living so much closer to Thomas is wonderful...did I tell you he got a job in the ministry of foreign relations? He's really just pushing paperwork for someone's undersecretary but he does love it and is doing very well._

_As for me I'm just slogging through school as usual. University is so different from Wyverly, no one cares if you skip class for one thing but you get terribly behind. And there's no magic of course, people keep asking me about my Charter mark like I'm actually from the Old Kingdom! And there's no end to the essays and exams and homework. I have to admit I'm rather jealous that you don't need to worry about those things anymore. It's no wonder students drink so heavily._

_Speaking of that we found this absolutely wonderful little pub near the school last weekend. Oh and the indoor market at Morris Gardens is incredible, I could have spent a whole day there! We'll have to go sometime, you'd adore it._

_I hope that whatever you're doing up there is going well. Also that you hung onto that gorgeous young man you had with you. Did I hear correctly that he's some sort of prince?_

_And I almost forgot—apparently Annie Peregrin is pregnant, can you believe that? Can you imagine her taking care of a small child? Five months along as well, which means she must have been getting it on with her boy well before the end of the year. My. Goodness._

_Anyway sweetie write back soon and tell me when I can expect you!_

_Much love,_

_Sulyn_

***

Sabriel read the letter several times, surprising herself when she blinked and a single tear rolled down her cheek to drip onto the paper. She turned away then, wiping her eyes on her sleeve and not even noticing when the door opened and Nira slipped in.

"My lady?" Her maid sounded more than a little alarmed, promptly dropping the stack of linens she carried to rush over and stand beside Sabriel, rubbing her back and stroking her hair with surprising tenderness. "My lady...what's wrong? Are you all right?"

"Yes I...sorry..." Sabriel tilted her head back, taking several deep breaths to try and calm herself. She gestured with the letter. "It's from my best friend back in Ancelstierre. She's just...she's talking about all these _normal_ things like homework and where she went shopping on the weekend and her boyfriend's new job and—and—" She let out a frustrated sigh. "I guess I just hadn't realized how much I've changed. None of what she's talking about even...even seems real."

Nira moved to crouch in front of her, rubbing her arm and listening silently.

Sabriel shook her head and wiped her eyes again. "I can't stop thinking about what if I _wasn't_ the Abhorsen, what if none of this had happened. I'd be right there with her and I'd be worrying about stupid essays too instead of risking my life every day and making decisions that literally affect the fate of a whole bloody kingdom! Isn't that horrible of me?"

"Not horrible," Nira said with a shrug. "But you _are_ the Abhorsen. And you are very good at it, my lady. You belong here."

"Well that's just it, isn't it? Sulyn gets to be this normal eighteen year old girl and I get to be...this..." She gestured halfheartedly at her bedroom with its grand furnishings, the wardrobe filled with formal wear gifted to her by various noble houses, at her bandolier and sword belt lying on the end of her bed. "And this all feels... _right_ to me, and that's what's frightening."

Nira smiled and got to her feet to go collect the linens once again.  "That is the important part," she said. "You feeling like you're doing the right thing." She grinned broadly then. "I mean look at me, I'm only sixteen and the handmaid to the Abhorsen!"

"You make me sound so important," Sabriel said softly, though she was smiling again. "You really don’t seem sixteen.”

"My grandmother always said I grew up too quickly," Nira said, moving to start changing the sheets on the bed. "And I am always happy to talk, or to listen, mistress. But..." She winked at Sabriel. "I think His Majesty is in his rooms if you'd rather _that_ sort of comfort."

Sabriel stared at her. "Nira!"

"Am I wrong?" Nira muttered, still grinning at her.

Folding the letter and putting it in one of the cubbies of her desk, Sabriel stood up abruptly. "I'm going… but not because you said anything."

"Have fun, my lady!" Nira called after her.

As she headed down the hall towards Touchstone's room, Sabriel determinedly ignored the guards she passed, convinced now that they would be watching her curiously. Entering the royal bedroom, she could hear the sounds of water from the bathroom, and so went to perch on the edge of Touchstone's bed, her chin resting in her hands.

Only a few minutes passed before Touchstone stepped into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist, hair still wet from the bath. He gave Sabriel a rather lopsided smile when he saw her, then, noticing her dejected expression, frowned. "Is everything all right?"

Sabriel stood, closing the distance between them and silently stepping into his arms. Touchstone made no comment, he simply folded her tightly against his chest. Sabriel rested her cheek on his shoulder, closing her eyes and taking in the comforting feel of the warm, damp embrace. She turned her head, pressing her face to his skin, noting the way his muscles shifted as he rocked slowly from side to side.

"I love you very much," he murmured into her hair a moment later. "What happened?"

"I got a letter from Sulyn today," Sabriel said softly, drawing back and kissing him before they moved to sit on the bed again.

"Oh?" Touchstone grasped her hand. "How is she?"

"She's good, it was just..." Sabriel rubbed her forehead. "It just reminded me how life down there is still continuing as normal. I suppose I’d managed to convince myself that I can’t have been the only one who’s changed completely.”

Touchstone nodded, apparently unsure what to say to that. He reached up, brushing her hair back behind her ear, lightly tracing the side of her face with his thumb.

Sabriel leaned into his touch for a moment, then smiled. “Are you planning on going to Ancelstierre anytime soon? Sulyn wants me to visit.”

“Actually yes, you were there when Jall was talking about the embassy they’ve set up for us in…” Touchstone paused, fishing for the name.

“Corvere?” Sabriel supplied indulgently, biting back a giggle. “You really need to be better about that. They’re your only neighbors.”

“Not true!” Touchstone said. “You go far enough north you hit another country. Well, you go north and then west across the tundra but I don’t think anyone’s ever done it except by ship…Anyway.” He gestured.  “Yes if you want to go to Ancelstierre I’m sure we could arrange something. I still need to repair the stone at Barhedrin anyway. How much time do you think you can spare?”

“A few days at least,” Sabriel said. Then her smile grew. “You haven’t been to Ancelstierre proper yet, have you?”

“I haven’t,” Touchstone said, looking a little perturbed by the realization. “But I’ll probably be fine, right?”

Sabriel took an exaggeratedly long time pondering that. “Mmmm…you’ll have to wear a suit, you know, so you don’t offend anyone’s delicate sensibilities. No kilts.”

“What?” Touchstone pouted at her. “But kilts are very sensible!” He wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her over into his lap.

“Not to Ancelstierrans,” Sabriel said, draping her arms around his neck. “And the earrings might get you some funny looks as well. Or people will just assume you fancy men.”

Now Touchstone looked genuinely baffled. “What in the blazing Charter do earrings have to do with whether I like men or not?”

“Honestly I have no idea,” Sabriel leaned in to kiss him. “Ancelstierrans are a strange—Touchstone!” She let out a startled shriek of laughter when she found herself suddenly flipped over, lying on her back on the mattress.

Touchstone fixed her with a playful smile, letting his towel fall to the floor. “Well, I don’t care really, because all that matters is that I like _you_.”

“Really now?” Sabriel asked, unable to keep a certain amount of impatient breathiness from her voice as she gazed up at him. “Going to prove just how much you like me?” Touchstone merely nodded, playfulness now replaced by an intent gaze that sent a flush of heat along Sabriel’s body as he leaned down to capture her lips in a deep kiss.

***

After three long, windy days repairing the stone at Barhedrin, Touchstone wasn’t in the greatest of moods when they finally crossed the wall. The king and Abhorsen were accompanied by Damed, of course, and three other royal guards, as well as Jall Oren who had, as he told Sabriel, actually been to Ancelstierre before.

Despite arrangements having been made ahead of time, there was still a fair amount of paperwork and negotiations to be gone through at the crossing point, which did nothing to help Touchstone’s mood. Already exhausted and short tempered, he spent most of the time sitting to the side while Jall took care of the rest.

Then, after a light lunch, they were shown through to the entrance off the main road where three official looking cars were waiting for them. Someone was leaning up against one of the cars, a young woman in a dress and tailored jacket, with a blue cloche hat pulled down over her dark hair. It took Sabriel a good minute to realize who it was, but when she did she lost her composure entirely, letting out a delighted shriek before charging over to wrap Sulyn in a fierce embrace.

“Oh, Sabriel!” Sulyn sounded just as delighted, hugging her friend tightly for quite a while. Then she held her at arm’s length and fixed her with a scrutinizing look. “Darling what in heaven’s name are you wearing.”

“Riding leathers,” Sabriel said, still too delighted to see her friend again to care. “You look gorgeous, Sulyn.”

“Speaking of gorgeous…” Sulyn grinned, linking her arm through Sabriel’s and turning to look at Touchstone, who had wandered over to them with a rather wary and bemused expression.

Sabriel rolled her eyes, ignoring the disapproving frown Jall kept shooting her way. “Sulyn, may I present his Royal Majesty Touchstone I, king of the Old Kingdom.”

Sulyn’s jaw dropped and she slapped Sabriel’s arm. “You’re shitting me. I mean…” She bowed to Touchstone. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, your majesty.”

“And you, Sulyn,” Touchstone smiled, taking her hand and kissing it, much to Sulyn’s delight. “Sabriel’s told me a lot about you.”

After the initial greetings they all bundled into the cars, wanting to get a head start on the several hour’s drive to Corvere. Touchstone, following an initial bout of skepticism about the safety of cars, actually slept for most of the trip while Sabriel and Sulyn talked in excited whispers.

Touchstone woke again just as the farmland was giving way to a more urban landscape, with factories and brick row houses, then taller and taller buildings as they got into Corvere proper.

“How does this compare to where you two are?” Sulyn asked, seeing the rather awed expression on his face.

“Belisaere doesn’t have buildings nearly this tall,” Touchstone said, craning his neck a little. “And it’s so dense here!”

Sabriel was peering out the windows with considerable interest as well. She had only been to Corvere a couple of times on school trips, and once with Sulyn and Ellimere on their way to Ellimere’s family home for a holiday. She found herself wondering if it had always been so crowded and dirty, or if it just seemed that way in comparison with the Old Kingdom.

As they soon saw, the embassy was in a large three story mansion set some ways back from the road and surrounded by a high wall. The building itself was done in a style reminiscent of Old Kingdom architecture; red tiled roof, pale stone walls and tall, arching windows. The cars brought them up the winding front drive to the main stairs, and Sabriel looked up as she stepped out. There was a balcony above the front doors, and hanging from it were deep red banners emblazoned with the golden towers of the royal house. Someone had clearly put work into their arrival, which surprised her.

“Did you do this?” Sabriel asked Jall as he got out of one of the other cars and joined them.

The chancellor bowed. “I did, lady Abhorsen. I have been in communication with the government here for a while…they seem quite eager to be on his highness’ good side from the start.”

Liveried footmen were moving to take their things from the cars and bring them inside. Sabriel looked around, and saw several other cars parked off to one side, with little flags stuck to their hoods. She looked to Jall again. “Whose cars are those?”

“The chief minister,” Jall said with a slight smile, then he nodded to the now open front doors.

A tall, grey haired man was just exiting, with a couple more people following him. He was dressed in a very expensive looking suit and certainly had the bearing of a self-important politician, though as he descended the steps towards them he smiled warmly. Behind Sabriel, Sulyn let out a soft sound, scooting over to stand with Damed. Touchstone looked like he would have liked to join them, but instead he straightened.

“Sire,” Jall said, stepping forward. “May I present His Excellency Chief Minister Alastair Rhymes. Minister – His Royal Majesty King Touchstone, first of his name, sovereign of the Old Kingdom and warden of the great Charters.”

It took all of Sabriel’s self-control not to laugh at the expression that briefly flashed over Touchstone’s face before he remembered himself.

Rhymes bowed deeply. “Your Majesty, welcome to Ancelstierre, it truly is an honor to have you.”

“Thank you,” Touchstone said, shaking Rhymes’ hand when he straightened. “And let me introduce the Lady Abhorsen Sabriel…”

“Your excellency,” Sabriel said.

“My lady.” Rhymes took her hand, kissing it lightly. “I have heard of you, of course. Educated on our side of the wall, at Wyverly if I do remember correctly? Excellent.” He gestured at the young man standing beside him. “My principle private secretary, Edward Sayre.”

“Your Majesty, Lady Abhorsen,” Edward Sayre said, bowing deeply to them both. Then he turned and smiled at Sulyn, inclining his head. “Miss Wing, it is good to see you again.”

Sulyn smiled, and glanced to Sabriel and Touchstone. “Mr. Sayre knows Thomas, he was the one who helped make sure I was there to meet you at the wall.”

“Well, now that that’s all out of the way,” Rhymes said, his warm smile returning. “Sire, my lady, would you like the full tour?”

***

After seeing the whole of the embassy, they dined with the Chief Minister and the others in the grand hall and made plans to travel to the Forum—the seat of the Ancelstierran Moot—the following day for initial discussions. Sulyn regretfully had to return to school as she still had class, but promised to make plans to see them more before they left.

Then, finally, around eleven o’clock (though it seemed much later), Sabriel and Touchstone were allowed some time alone. Sabriel sat on Touchstone’s bed, watching him change into pajamas.

“I thought I was just getting used to Old Kingdom politics then suddenly I have to factor a whole other country into it,” he grumbled as he went to join her on the bed. “At least they’re being ridiculously nice to us.”

Sabriel nodded. Her head was spinning as well; even just a short dinner had provided a lot to wrap her mind around. “Jall says they have no idea what we’re capable of, and the Minister wants to err on the side of caution and make sure we’re close allies. Which is good, because right now we need all the help we can get.” She squinted a little, trying to remember some of her economics and industry classes. “Ancelstierre doesn’t have many local sources of iron, and they’ve all but depleted their forests, so we do have bartering chips if we need them.”

“You’re so smart,” he said, rolling over to kiss her. “How are you so smart?”

Sabriel smiled into the kiss. “I’m not the one waving my hand at the lamp to turn it off,” she said, giggling.

“…Right.” Touchstone rolled back over, feeling around for the switch to shut off the electric lamp on the bedside table.  Curling around Sabriel again he asked quietly, “Does this mean you’re sleeping in here?”

“I’ve gotten used to you,” Sabriel said, yawning and tucking her head against his shoulder.

Touchstone was quiet for so long that she had thought he’d fallen asleep, until he murmured, “Do you think maybe we should just…”

“Hmm?” she lifted her head a little, peering at him in the fuzzy darkness.

“I just mean, I really love you,” Touchstone said a bit awkwardly. “And I want to be with you always.”

Sabriel pressed her face to his chest, laughing quietly.

“What?”

“You’re…are you trying to propose to me at a quarter past eleven when I’m so tired I can barely keep my eyes open?” she asked.

“Humph.” Touchstone wrapped his arms around her shoulders. “I’m just sick of pretending like there’s a reason we can’t be together. I love you, Sabriel, and I would marry you in a heartbeat.” He heard her yawn and sighed, then kissed the top of her head. “We can talk about it tomorrow.”

***

Breakfast was mostly dominated by Jall Oren going over their schedule for the day. Then getting dressed—which took some time as Touchstone developed very heated opinions about Ancelstierran clothing. Then came the trip over to the Forum, a large stately building in the center of the city.

There Touchstone was not only presented officially before the Moot, he also met with the Hereditary Arbiter, the all but entirely ceremonial monarch of the country, before he was dragged off to lunch with the man. An afternoon of complicated meetings and negotiations, in which Jall Oren graciously and skillfully took the lead. Dinner with Edward Sayre, two other officials, and one of the lead journalists for the _Corvere Times_. The meal, as Sabriel had feared, became simply an extension of the talks from earlier, and would no doubt appear in the paper the following morning.

By the time they returned to the embassy, both she and Touchstone were too exhausted for further talk.

***

Jall greeted them again at breakfast on the second day, and Sabriel was sorely tempted to banish him from the table. As helpful and useful as he was, a childish part of her simply did not want to listen to another list of people they had to meet and places they had to be that day.

Halfway through her second cup of coffee, Sabriel set it down with a loud clatter. Jall blinked, looking at her. Touchstone paused with a forkful of scrambled eggs part way to his mouth.

“My lady?” Jall said. “Is there something you wanted to…?”

“We want to get married,” Sabriel said, matter-of-factly.

Jall chuckled, amused. “Oh yes, I’m sure we could fit that into our schedule…”

“Well not _today_ obviously,” Sabriel said, well aware that next to her Touchstone had dropped his fork. “We’d need time to plan.”

“Oh you’re…” Jall raised his eyebrow. “You’re serious.”

Only when she reached for Touchstone’s hand did Sabriel realize that she was trembling ever so slightly. “We love each other very much.”

“I…” Jall rubbed his face, sighing heavily. “Lady Abhorsen, is this really the most opportune time to discuss this?”

_No probably not_ , Sabriel thought, but she shrugged. “It’s not really a discussion.”

“My…” Jall stopped and took a deep breath, as though preparing to explain something to a small child. “You’re _eighteen_ , my lady, have you really thought this through? No, I do not doubt your feelings for one another but…there’s never been an Abhorsen Queen before in the history of the kingdom, and for good reason!”

Seeing the startled look on Sabriel’s face, Touchstone squeezed her hand and quickly added, “Kings can take consorts just like anyone else…”

“Were you not the first king in two hundred years,” Jall said. “That would be an option. As it is…I would advise against it. Strongly. You need your spouse as ruler by your side.”

Sabriel pursed her lips. For whatever reason, that particular detail hadn’t really come to the center of her mind. Now it terrified her, and looking up at Jall Oren again, she could tell he knew that it did.

“On the other hand,” Jall said, and his tone was softer. “You have been doing a lot to advise his highness, so I do not want it to seem as though I don’t think you would be capable of being queen, my lady. But I would advise just…thinking this through.” He collected his papers then, and got to his feet, bowed, and strode out of the room.

Sabriel barely heard that last bit. She leaned back in her chair, brow furrowing further as she mentally added the responsibilities of a queen to those she already had; the list seemed endless. Then again, if someone had just a year ago presented her with a list of the Abhorsen’s duties she would have immediately dismissed them as impossible, yet here she was, managing them, as Nira had said, relatively well.

Touchstone did not let go of Sabriel’s hand, his thumb brushing over the back of her knuckles. Finally he sighed, and said in an all too familiar downcast tone, “Jall’s right. I can’t ask you to do this. To be queen as well as Abhorsen simply because I cannot stand the thought of letting you go.”

Sabriel turned and promptly smacked the back of his head.

“Ow!” Touchstone stared at her with wide eyes. “What was that for?”

“You’re doing _it_ again,” she said heatedly. “I love you, idiot. You’re my best friend, and the thought of not…” Sabriel took a deep breath and looked at him. “I will be queen, for you. And for the kingdom.”

Touchstone leaned forward. “Really?”

“Really.” Sabriel let out a small laugh and looked down. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and for a moment when Touchstone leaned in to press his lips to hers she didn’t respond. Then all at once she was kissing him back, wrapping her arms around him, tangling her fingers in his hair and practically climbing into his lap with such abandon that she somehow got caught on the tablecloth and caused her plate to fall to the floor with a loud crash.

Damed burst into the room seconds later, saw the two of them, saw the broken plate, and folded his arms over his chest. “Is…is everyone all right?” he asked, either fighting back a glare or a laugh, it was difficult to tell.

Feeling Sabriel starting to slide off his lap, Touchstone clamped one hand firmly on her rear, looking up at his bodyguard with a slightly dazed expression. “We’re going to get married.”

 


	5. Chapter 5

Spring came early that year, which for Sabriel was a blessing as it meant bright sunny days and rivers gorged with meltwater, both effective deterrents against the Dead. For two and a half months following the trip to Ancelstierre Sabriel found herself moving back and forth between Belisaere and the far reaches of the country, though at least now she felt as though she were making actual progress.

One bright afternoon, which still had just a hint of winter's bite to the air, Sabriel found herself riding out to a small holdfast on the outskirts of Estwael. The lady holder and her husband—close personal friends of Duke Edryd—had been plagued recently by what sounded like a minor Free Magic creature.

The holdfast consisted of a small, two story house built from some dark colored timber, as well as a barn, both buildings surrounded by sprawling green fields dotted here and there by clusters of wooly sheep. The fields ran right up to the edge of the Great Forest, and to the north Sabriel could see mountains on the horizon. It was altogether an idyllic scene, and difficult to imagine that anything could disrupt such tranquility.

As Sabriel rode her dark mare up to the front yard, the door of the house opened and a tall, wiry woman with her hair drawn into a long silver braid stepped out. She waved before starting down the walk towards Sabriel, reaching her just as Sabriel dismounted.

"Abhorsen," the woman said, bowing. "I cannot thank you enough for coming."

"You must be Haya," Sabriel said, reaching out to shake the woman's calloused hand.

Haya nodded, smiling, all the weathered wrinkles in her face drawing up into smile-lines. "Still, I can't imagine this is the most pressing problem on your list, milady."

"Free Magic creatures, however small they may be, are always serious," Sabriel assured her. She removed her bags from the horse, then followed as Haya led her inside.

The house was cozy, the main floor taken up mostly by a large central room with a kitchen area to one side, a dining table to the other, and a number of chairs in the middle around a wood stove. Sabriel could see a ladder towards the back that no doubt led up to the bedrooms. A man sat by the fire, he looked to be Haya's age, albeit not in the same shape of his wife.

"My husband, Drem," Haya said, gesturing. She gave him an affectionate scowl. "King of the stove, we say. You'll have to excuse him if he doesn't get up, bad knee."

Sabriel smiled and walked over to shake Drem's hand. "It is good to meet you, sir."

"The honor is entirely mine, Lady Abhorsen," Drem said as he gazed up at her. He held her hand in both of his. "What you and the King have done for this country so far is...well, I have not known such reassurance in all my life. And speaking of His Majesty..." He winked. "May I offer my congratulations?"

"Thank you," Sabriel said, feeling herself flush a little.

"I don't care what others be saying," Drem said, gesturing. "S'as good a match as any."

"I share the sentiment," Haya said. "Can I get you a cup of tea before you get to work?" She motioned for Sabriel to follow her to the small kitchen area.

Sabriel followed, watching Haya fill two cups from a pot that had already been steeping. "The Duke was a bit vague when he told me about what happened..."

"It's not pleasant," Haya said, her lips tightening. "Once every four days or so we've been finding sheep, dead, out in the eastern paddock. Though 'dead' don't quite cover it...sheep husks might be more apt. They look like they'd been dead for years, only we have our sheep marked and they were ones that'd been alive and kicking not a day before."

"Just one every few days though?"

"Aye. Four days was the shortest interval, a week was the longest. First couple times it happened we chalked it up to coincidence but..." The woman spread her hands and shrugged.

Sabriel nodded, sitting on a stool to drink her tea. She'd slept well enough the night before but a morning of riding had left her exhausted, more exhausted than she would have expected. Still the tea was a strong blend of black leaves, and she could feel it starting to wake her, even if her stomach churned a little in protest of the small breakfast she'd had.

"I'll look around in the paddock today, see if I can spot any other signs," Sabriel said, trying not to look too eager when Haya set a plate of biscuits in front of her.

"I'll have Flora go out with you," Haya said. "She's about your age, knows that area well."

***

Flora looked, Sabriel thought, like Haya must have in her younger years. Tall, sharp-eyed, and all lean muscle and coiled energy. She led the way on foot out towards the eastern paddock,  a twenty minute walk along a dirt riding trail. They talked a little about what had happened, but Flora didn't know much more than her mother had.

"Can I ask, milady," she said after a bit. "How...old are you?"

Sabriel bit back a grin. "Eighteen."

"Charter. You're only a year older than I am!" Flora's amber eyes widened. "Ain't you scared?"

"Not really," Sabriel shrugged. "I've fought worse than whatever's been killing your sheep."

"No..." Flora laughed, casting her a sidelong glance. "I meant about becoming queen."

"Oh." Sabriel slowed a bit, partially to ponder what the girl was asking and partly to wipe the back of her wrist across her brow. The day was hovering between chilly and warm, but the sun had been shining down on them the whole walk. Finally she shrugged again. "Not really. A little. I just figure I'll have to push through it like you do with any job."

Flora nodded, directing Sabriel over off the road and through a gate. She grinned. "I was thinking you'd be some sort of...I dunno. It's always a little funny how really powerful important people are just people."

"A year ago I was still sneaking out to films—erm, the theater—with my friends on weekends and eating more sweets than I should have and complaining about school," Sabriel said. "I'd like to think I can stay—wait!"

She put one hand out to stop Flora. A breeze had picked up, carrying with it a strong, acrid scent; not the sort of thing one would expect to be coming from the forest that ran right up to the paddock's edge.

"Ergh!" Flora wrinkled her nose. "What the blazes is that? I smelt it once last week too."

"Free Magic," Sabriel breathed. "Whatever's been killing your sheep is probably in the woods, and not too far."

She looked Flora over, noting she had a Charter mark, and a small but unspelled blade tucked into her belt. Flora saw Sabriel looking and drew the blade, giving her a resolute nod. "I'm right behind you, milady."

"No, you should..." Sabriel shook her head. "You should go back, or at the very least wait out here."

Flora looked about to protest, but she nodded. "You'll holler if you need help though, milady, yeah?"

Sabriel nodded, and tried to smile reassuringly. Taking a deep breath, she ran a hand over her bells, then started across the field, clambering a bit awkwardly over the fence when she reached it. Passing into the trees, the smell of Free Magic only grew stronger, and the hairs on the back of Sabriel's neck stood on end.

"All right, where are you?" She breathed as she looked around. It was mostly false bravado, she knew; despite what she had told Flora there was still something nerve wracking about facing an unknown creature in a strange forest all by herself.

She made sure to keep track of how to get back, glancing over her shoulder at the retreating treeline every few minutes.

A streak of something reddish-brown on one of the trees made Sabriel pause. She reached out to touch it; whatever it was had dried long ago, but there was a bit of what looked like sheep's fur caught in the bark, leading her to think the mark was dried blood. She continued on, heading roughly towards a mossy pile of rocks just a little taller than she was. The stench of Free Magic as she drew near was unbearable, and try as she might to fight it, Sabriel came to an abrupt stop, doubling over and vomiting up what little was in her stomach.

A low, steady hiss, like air being pressed out of a bellows started behind her. Sabriel sprang upright, wiping her mouth on her sleeve, sword in hand. She all but held her breath, watching as something circled out from behind the pile of rocks.

It appeared to be a four-legged creature, dark furred and silver-eyed. As it stepped, silver sparks sprang up from its paws like they were scraping against metal rather than dry leaves. Sabriel wondered vaguely why nothing had caught fire around the beast.

She raised her sword, the point aimed at the creature while with her free hand she drew Saraneth. There was no fresh blood, so she hoped it hadn't eaten recently, and would be weak and tired.  The creature, dark jowls quivering, lifted its head and sniffed the air, raising a wheezing sort of growl as it caught her scent.

Before it could even prepare to spring, Sabriel rang Saraneth, reaching out with all the will and force she could muster, driving down the bile rising in her throat again.

Her mind and the creature’s will collided, Sabriel reaching out with invisible fingers to grip tight the writhing chains of Free Magic that held the thing together. If the Charter was reassuring in its infinite vastness, Free Magic was a wild, chaotic void. But powerful, so powerful. She felt the maker’s marks on the creature, felt a sudden curiosity as to what would happen if she tweaked them just enough, not making the beast freeze but instead bending it to her will…But the Free Magic burned, and she drew back from it.

Sabriel replaced Saraneth to grasp the sword in both hands. The creature was frozen, though there was no saying for how long. With a Charter spell for unraveling and disassembling bursting from her lips, Sabriel lunged forward and brought the sword down.

The creature leapt towards her at the last minute, almost like it was jumping to meet her blade, but when the two connected the creature began to unravel like it was made of yarn. Chains of marks that held together for only a moment before breaking apart into the air, patterns like perverted Charter marks that quivered and writhed before disappearing.

Sabriel found she could not move her arms for a few moments. It felt like she had just received an electric shock; her muscles ached, her joints felt locked. Then, just as the forest sounds began to return, she lowered her arms, and replaced her sword.

When she stepped back out into the sunlight, she was surprised to see the long shadows of afternoon creeping across the fields. Flora was crouched in the grass, but she sprang up and ran over to Sabriel the minute she spotted her.

"Milady!" Flora gasped. "Are you all right? I was just gearing myself up to come after you!"

"What?" Sabriel felt dazed, shielding her eyes from the golden glow of the setting sun. "How...Charter, I could have sworn I was only gone twenty minutes at most!"

Flora gave her a surprised look. "Milady you were gone for hours," she whispered. "Are you sure you're all right?"

Sabriel felt her brow furrow, and her empty stomach gave an uneasy rumble. She reached up, brushing her sweaty hair back. "I'm fine," she said finally. "But I need to speak with your mother. That was no ordinary Free Magic creature, but a necromancer's construct. It was very weak, however, so I do not think its master is anywhere nearby."

Flora nodded but continued to watch Sabriel as though expecting her to fall unconscious any minute as they walked back towards the house. Out in the front yard a young man was chopping firewood.  He stopped to stare at them, until Flora shouted and made a rude but playful gesture. Sabriel barely noticed, still lost in thought about what had happened in the forest.

There was another man waiting inside when they stepped through the door, and judging from Flora’s reaction she did not know him. He wore soft leathers accented with green patterns, and had been sitting with Haya and Drem, but rose to his feet when the girls stepped in.

“My lady Abhorsen,” he said with a deep bow. “I am Connor, the commander of the Forrester’s guild.” He opened his mouth to say something else, then stopped, frowning. “My lady are you all right?”

“Yes I…” Sabriel shook her head, but did not protest when Haya steered her into a chair and handed her a glass of water. She took a moment or two to catch her breath before speaking. “There was a Free Magic construct in the woods; I disposed of it but someone had to have created it. It was old, and weak, so it’s entirely possible—as I said to Flora—that the necromancer is long gone.”

Connor was standing with one arm folded over his chest, chin resting in his other palm. His brown face furrowed in a displeased scowl. “Should we be worried?”

“I'm...it's hard to say,” Sabriel admitted, sighing. “It would not hurt to increase your patrols in the forest.”

Connor lowered his arm and exchanged a glance with Haya. “We’ll need more recruits for that, Abhorsen. And more recruits mean we need a place to house them, and food and supplies. All of that means more gold.”

“The crown does not have much gold as it is,” Sabriel said, her head throbbing just a little. “Neither does your duchy.”

“I know that,” Connor said regretfully. “But you get us the backing we’ll need and in a year or two we’ll repay it to you tenfold. The Forresters used to run a large part of the lumber industry in the kingdom, I know Ancelstierre doesn’t have much natural ironwood left. But we need more hands.”

Haya clicked her tongue and gave him a stern look. “Connor, she’s not the queen yet, and she’s exhausted. Save your lobbying for the capitol and let the poor woman catch her breath.”

Connor said nothing, his gaze still fixed on Sabriel.

“I’ll speak with the master of coin,” Sabriel said after a moment of weary hesitation. “We would need some proof that you could produce as much as you say…”

“The ledgers of the past six centuries speak to that, Abhorsen.”

Sabriel took a deep breath, putting all her effort into giving him a hard look. “I said I’ll speak with the master of coin.”

Over by the stove, Drem let out a laugh. “Aye that’s our future queen all right, lad. Smart thing to do is bend the knee now and get in good from the start.”

Connor looked at her for another beat, then his mouth curled up in a smile, and he nodded. “I hold no doubts, Abhorsen. I will appreciate whatever you can do. Thank you. In the meantime, the patrols we do have will keep an eye out for anything unusual. Good evening, all.” He picked up a wide brimmed hat from the stand by the door, clapped it on his head and strode out.

Sabriel watched him go, then turned her gaze to the windows. The light outside was already dimming to twilight, and she sighed. “My paperwing is back in the capitol, I think I am too tired to –“

“You’ll stay the night, of course you will,” Haya said, waving her hand. “I spent my teenaged years out on the road, I know what you consider ‘rest’ and ‘food’ while traveling and you need more than that, milady. Flora, go fix up a bed for her while I get started on dinner.”

Sabriel smiled to herself as she watched the family bustle around in their evening preparations. In all the hectic comings and goings of her own life, she had almost entirely forgotten what moments like this were like, and she allowed herself to enjoy it, if only for this short while.

***

She returned to Belisaere late the following evening to discover that Touchstone was away on a visit to Highbridge. As such, Sabriel had a late dinner in the solar, kept company by Nira, and her handmaid actually managed to distract her somewhat with a selection of amusing stories of things Sabriel had missed while she was gone.  

“…I don’t think I can ever look at either the mayor or green apples the same again,” Nira was saying as they headed down the hall to Sabriel’s rooms. She smiled, moving to slip her arm through Sabriel’s. “I’m glad you’re home, Mistress.”

“I think it really is time you just started calling me ‘Sabriel,’” she said, without much hope.

Nira sniffed. “Not a chance, my lady, forgive me. Besides,” she giggled and nudged Sabriel with her elbow. “There’s something just a little sexy about ‘mistress.’”

“Nira!” Sabriel laughed. “Sometimes the things you say…”

“I say a lot of things.” Nira rested her head against Sabriel’s for a moment. “And if I cross a line you are entirely allowed and obligated to tell me to shut it.”

Sabriel stopped, biting her lip and peering at Nira. “I just…I don’t…this is probably silly.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” Nira said. “What’s wrong?”

“You’re not…” Sabriel grimaced. “You’re not in love with me are you?”

Nira blinked, started to laugh, then stopped herself. “No, my lady. I care deeply for you, but I’m not in love with you. Aside from the fact that I would be heartbroken to see anyone come between you and His Majesty…I don’t...love. Not romantically.”

“What?” Sabriel blinked. At that point she had entirely forgotten they were standing in the middle of the hallway. “You don’t…like at all? How…”

“I don’t.” Nira shrugged. “People have different desires, Mistress, different feelings. I love my friends and my family, but romantic emotions and entanglements…not a thing I have interest or desire for. Sex is wonderful, but romance….” She made a face and waved her hand.

Sabriel frowned as she pondered that, then gave a little nod. After a moment she cracked a small grin, saying teasingly, “But you do think I’m attractive.”

“Were you not engaged I would take you in a womanly fashion, my lady,” Nira said, then snorted and rolled her eyes, before giving Sabriel a little slap on the rear. “I think it’s well past your bedtime, Abhorsen.”

Biting back hysterical giggles, Sabriel led the way into her room where she began to strip out of her clothes while Nira got one of her nightgowns from the wardrobe. Despite Sabriel’s protests that she could dress herself, her handmaid wrestled the garment over her head, then stood Sabriel before the mirror to comb out her hair.

“You’re paying me handsomely,” Nira said as she worked. “Might as well get your money’s worth out of it.”

“You make it sound so illicit,” Sabriel said, yawning. “It’s like…Nira?”

The young woman had paused and set the comb aside, leaning forward as though scrutinizing Sabriel’s reflection.  “Your tits look bigger.”

“What?” Sabriel spluttered. “Nira, honestly, I’m…”

Nira craned her neck to look Sabriel in the eye. “I thought you said you’d been feeling a bit off lately? Here turn sideways.” She turned Sabriel, then smoothed her hands down her body, holding the loose material of Sabriel’s gown tight against her. “Look at your breasts and stomach.”

“What?” Sabriel asked, starting to sound cross now.

“I spent enough time as a cleaning girl in a brothel to put two and two together,” Nira said, as defiant as Sabriel was annoyed. “When did you last bleed?”

Sabriel groaned and rubbed her face. “I’m not pregnant. Shemblis just renewed the monthly spell, I can’t be.”

“When did you last bleed?” Nira asked again.

“I don’t remember!” Sabriel said, throwing her hands in the air in frustration. “I’m the Abhorsen, I’ve been a bit busy to pay attention to that.” She shrugged Nira off and walked over to sit on the bed. Somewhere beneath her annoyance a small niggling worry had begun.

“That spell prevents pregnancies; it doesn’t end one that’s already begun,” Nira reasoned, walking slowly over to her. “And it only works in places where the Charter is.”

Sabriel stared at her.

Nira folded her arms. “I know you and his majesty did not go a whole two weeks in Ancelstierre sleeping in separate beds and not laying a hand on each other.”

Sabriel couldn’t find her voice. She drew her legs up, hiding her face against her knees. A second later the bed dipped as Nira sat beside her and rested a hand on her back.

“You can see Shemblis first thing in the morning, my lady,” she whispered.

“Yes,” Sabriel said a bit numbly, reaching over to grab Nira’s hand and hold it tight. She took a couple steadying breaths, then looked up at her. “Will you stay with me?”

Nira smiled and nodded, flicking her hand to dim the Charter lights as they both moved to slip under the covers. Sabriel curled close to the other woman, needing something, anything to ground her racing mind.

Mostly she felt certain that it couldn't possibly be true. Sure some girls got pregnant without meaning to, but that wouldn't actually happen to her. And if it did, what then? Of course she'd had the vague idea that someday she would want to have children, but that sort of thing took careful planning and preparations, didn't it? Her mind began to wander, anxiously rushing through the possibilities, the probabilities, so quickly that she didn't even notice when she finally did drift off into an uneasy sleep.

 

 


End file.
